Chapter Nineteen: Rule #19 – Stand Your Ground
Jason keeps blathering on at Tim with soothing words he isn't even sure the stupid baby seal could possibly be hearing. Between the roar of Jason's engine as he nears Obscura and the pound of the night club's music that Jason's picking up through Tim's com, Jason's pretty damn certain there's too much background noise for any of his half-panicked mutters to be heard.
But he keeps talking anyway.
If there's even the slightest chance that Tim could hear him, Jason knows he needs to keep talking – to keep offering the reassurances he knows that Tim specifically needed to hear right now. Jason had seen Tim in a kidnapping situation before, had learned a lot more about his particular variety of mental resilience – knew from his own experience that the promise of an impending rescue from the Bats made Tim a thousand times more determined to stay alive.
Frankly, Jason was surprised they hadn't just killed Tim when they'd found him poking around the warehouse where they'd stashed their drugs.
He is not going to let the minor miracle of that bizarre little blessing go to waste.
So, keeping Tim's morale as high as fucking possible is Jason's top priority while he rushes to weave his bike through the narrow streets of Chinatown – utterly ignoring the alarmed and offended shouts of the pedestrians he's unceremoniously knocking aside.
Additionally, beyond helping to keep Tim's morale up, the blathering on helps Jason control his breathing – keeping his heart-rate manageable and his panic-stiffened lungs from locking up on him entirely. He can't afford to hyperventilate or to let himself pass out, Tim needs him too much for that shit – Tim needs him focused and fight-ready.
Jason whips into the alley behind Obscura barely seconds before Batman's silent speedster slips into the backlot's shadows.
Batman's swept himself out of the car and across the alley to tower over Jason before Jason has even manged to fully remove his helment. Jason doesn't have time for a fight with B right now. If B wants to start one, Jason's gonna have to scamper out of it – and he's only got a 50/50 shot of doing that successfully, so he stays tensed to bolt as B holds out his gauntlet.
"Earbud," Batman growls.
Warily, Jason holds an open palm beneath B's curled fingers, snatching up the tiny piece of tech Batman deposits. He sticks it inside the ear not occupied with the com linking him to Tim as Batman instructs, "Locate the target, secure acess to the target, and do not engage beyond what's necessary to play for time. Nightwing and Batgirl are en route, eta 10 minutes."
Jason nods, still wary.
He doesn't verbalize anything – not wanting to confuse Tim with a sudden change in what he's saying. B seems to get it, bizarre as that seems. His mouth is a grim line and his expression serious beneath what the cowl hides.
Then Jason turns his back and strides towards Obscura's front door.
Bruce Wayne's bankroll provides an effective shortcut as Jason uses a couple sheets of specialized cotton-paper with Ben Franklin's face on them to cut the line and bypass the ID check and slip out onto the floor without delay.
And then Jason's saying, "I'm here, baby bird, just walked in the door. Now, I'm gonna need your help for this bit, so guide me to ya, a'ight?"
The wait for any hint of a response is agonizing.
But eventually, there's a triumphant little hum that Jason thinks might mean Tim's spotted him – followed quickly by curling whine of worried confusion, likely as he fails to spot any of the other Bats and as he realizes that Jason's still dressed in civies.
Tim mutters half a worried question about Jason being all alone.
"Those Bats you love are in costume and staging for an infiltration," Jason promises.
Tim's sigh proves that Jason hit the mark.
A moment later, Tim actually talks to him. Sensibly, Tim keeps his voice low and his words slow as he says, "I can see you. I'm in the VIP loft on the, um... south side of the building. Ross is here, with at least four goons. I don't know where the others are, or why they brought me up here, but... I think Ross is waiting for something."
Jason's head turns upwards, gaze scanning the dim shadows behind the first layer of lights and lasers for any sign of Tim – freezes when he spots his ghostly face between the bars of the loft's railing. The kid looks tired and sickly pale and terrified, but seems unharmed.
Relief floods Jason's system with enough force to make his fucking knees wobble like he's a god damn pansy. But that shit won't get Tim rescued.
He might not be grievously hurt just yet, but he's still not out of danger.
Jason shoots a confident smirk Tim's way – hoping to reassure him visably that he's gonna get the kid out of this mess.
Because he is.
Even if it damn well kills him to do it.
Which it might, but whatever.
Jason can do his job, he can be a half-decent Robin – can get the civilians out and safe without being too overly concerned about his own chances of getting out alive.
"Well, whatever he's expecting, I'll put money down on betting that he's not expecting us," Jason tells Tim with a cocky confidence that he hopes Tim can believe.
Tim gives a tiny nod – so tiny, Jason's almost worried he just imagined it because it's hard to honestly see a gesture like that from this distance with the interference of so many lights and shadows – but it's enough to let Jason drag his eyes away from the haunting little face above him. He turns his gaze on the club itself, letting his body fall into the rhythym of the music as he plots a course to the first staircase he needs to climb.
Obscura's got a hot beat droppin' – and with it only being a Wednesday night, it can't possibly be any special guest, which means their usual House DJ is playin' on point. It's actually quite a shame that Jason's here under such unfortunate circumstances. This place would make for one helluva night out when the only thing at stake is trying not to laugh himself silly watching Tim make an utterly adorkable fool of himself – and trying not to die of embarrassment as Dick doesn't even bother attempting to be cool.
Jason makes it to the first staircase before the track playing when he walked into the club to start with begins to transition into the next one. Again, Jason has to mark the skill of the in-house beatmaster – the transition is seamlessly smooth and most of the patrons don't even notice the switch until recognition of the new track's unmixed version kicks in completely.
The franklins Jason dropped at the front grant him VIP access to the balcony that rounds the main floor, but – being a place of criminal enterprise – Obscura's upper loft is guarded with more than a playboy's blasé use of bills can bypass.
The bottom of the staircase that marks the last 20 yards between Jason and Tim is blocked by bouncer who is not impressed by Jason's clear intent to pass.
"Sorry, kid," he growls, using his height and bulk to try to seem imposing – which might've worked if Jason were actually just a brainless rich boy, but doesn't even have a micron of potential to phase a kid from the streets of Crime Alley. "Upstairs is invite only."
Jason smirks and lets his Narrows' grit and streetfight smile show.
"I have business with the kid you've got upstairs," Jason informs the bouncer, his voice ringing clear and cocky.
Unless this no-name bouncer is on the fucking take directly with whoever Tavian Ross works for – which Jason thinks is laughably unlikely – he's not got a drop of that special roid-rage fueling super juice inside him. Jason can beat this fucker's ass to hell and back for shits and giggles any time he wants – would do so now to prove a point if Tim weren't waiting upstairs.
"Doesn't matter, short stop," the bouncer replies stupidly, "I got orders."
Jason makes to push passed the boucer, who grabs at his shoulder in the most predictable move any door thug has ever made in the history of brainless door thugs. The grab opens the goon up for Jason to twist around and snatch hold of his wrist, leavering that arm over his shoulder and pairing it with a disabiling kick to the back that cracks the bouncer's joint in a very satisfying way.
If Jason wasn't already benched three times over, that move's excessive brutality would probably be enough to land him back in the hot seat.
Jason doesn't particularly care.
He's been on his way out of Wayne Manor since this case got started.
There's no way he's gonna be able to pretend he's still allowed to stay there now.
And he sure as hell isn't gonna let the nebulous potential for adding one more black mark to his fucking coal mine of a spotty record stop him from getting his ass upstairs to save Tim as fast as possible.
So, the instant he disables the bouncer by dislocating his shoulder, Jason jogs upwards.
There's another bouncer at the top of the stairs.
This one knows Jason won't be stopped with words or an intimidating arm-cross, so he goes straight to the man-handling phase. It goes as well for him as it did for his colleague.
There's a third tough-guy bouncer waiting in the wings, but Jason doesn't let that slow him down for more than half a second.
And then Jason's at the edge of the VIP loft where Tim is being held.
There's an odd power dynamic between the people in the area, made achingly apparent by their at-odds body language, but Jason's not really keen on analyzing it just yet.
He's fixated on Tim.
The kid looks more like a fuckin' baby seal than ever, curled up on the floor with his pasty ass face looking even paler up close in the low light and those big blue eyes of his going perfectly round with a heartrending mix of hope and worry and terror.
Jason catches his gaze and nods.
He waits as Tim sorts his brain out enough to nod back.
Tim even manages to attempt cracking a shaky smile.
It's enough – more than enough – to let Jason know he's alright for the moment.
Once he's confirmed that Tim is doing well enough, considering the current circumstances, Jason turns his attention to the bad guys in the room.
The oddness of the power dynamic strikes him again.
Tavian Ross is easy to mark, aloof and splayed wide with the imposition of power. But there's an anxious twist in him, a tension in how the set of his shoulders doesn't quite line up right with the angle of his hips or his knees. For an almost physically invulnerable drug lord, Tavain Ross is throwing out some vibes that make him seem hella nervous.
On Tavian's left is a kid – seriously can't be more than a couple days older than Dick, at the absolute oldest – who's throwin' out the exact opposite vibe. He's cool as a cucumber, sittin' pretty and getting a bit bored as he's waiting for the show to start.
On Tavian's right is another youngster – though this one's old enough to be a reasonable addition to the table. He's bored too, but more on the agitated side and he's forcibly involving himself in a hushed discussion with Tavian to keep himself occupied.
But the one that really interests Jason is one of the floater goons standing on the fringes like they weren't considered important enough to get a seat at the little round table.
The goon standing near Tim is different.
He stands out because he's not like the others – down to the way he fuckin' breathes. The posture is different, the movement is different, the focus is different. Whoever that guy is, he's not from around here, and this is not the kind of crew he usually runs with… And he's got an unnervingly keen gaze trained on Jason.
He's probably employed by Tavian Ross, but very little about how that guy's body language is representing him says that he's just gonna roll over and take Tavain's orders.
"So, Rossie," Jason drawls, trying not to show how carefully split his attention is – caught between Tavian and the goon that doesn't belong. "You got somethin' of mine."
Tavian Ross runs his eyes over Jason with a small frown and a growing furrow on his forehead. He looks less than unimpressed. He looks confused.
His shoulders angle towards the goon, attention split just as thoroughly as Jason's currently is – Tavian's at least as concerned as Jason himself is by how much interest and overtly biased attention the goon is showing towards him.
"And what would that be?" Tavian asks, tenting his fingers beneath his chin.
Jason jerks his chin in Tim's direction. "Him."
He doesn't leave room for negotiation in his stance. It makes Tavian's eyes narrow and the goon that doesn't belong begins a slow stalk towards him – a subtle, and potentially problematic display of aggression, but it's more of an attempt to intimidate him than to genuinely sneak around to flank him.
"We picked him up in a warehouse on the other side of town, in the midst of breaking and entering," Tavian counters, carefully arching an eyebrow. "And he was after some valuable merchandise of ours – merchandise we'd rather he not tell anyone about."
Jason snorts, annoyed and unimpressed by Tavian's attempt at reasoning out his motivations for kidnapping a twelve year old and proceeding to use him as a hostage threat.
It's a rather gentle threat, considering how dangerous the drugs are, and it's still unclear who exactly Tavian wants to hold him hostage against, but Jason thinks that Tavian might not realize just how much he knows about the operation – a random gangster threating a kid over witnessing run-of-the-mill illegal merchandise is one thing, but a government agent threatening a kid over a drug so danderous it doesn't even have an official Schedule status is quite another.
"Everybody fuckin' knows about your god damn drugs," Jason announces brashly, adding, "I don't give a shit about that crap, or your little government conspiracy. I want the kid."
His theory is validated as Tavian goes still.
The only thing Tavian has really reacted to is the implication that more people know about the situation than just the kid who'd been caught poking into the warehouse where they'd been keeping the drugs. Tavian's playing a closed game with a very tight knit group of players, so having not one but two outsiders seemingly aware of his chessboard and what's happening on it is almost definitely more than a little alarming.
He certainly seems nervous enough about it all.
"Why?"
Jason frowns. That is not the reaction he was expecting.
"Why what?"
"Why do you want him, if you know what else we have?"
Because the kid is his friend, and this guy holding him hostage is a super human psychopath, and the stupid drugs involved are killing just about everyone they have recorded as ever even touching them?
It doesn't strike Jason as a very logical question, it doesn't seem like the answer could be anything but obvious.
The goon that doesn't belong is now thoroughly flanking him, to the point that Jason has to take a step back to keep the goon in view while keeping his direct attention on Ross.
As he watches the goon out of the corner of his periphery, Jason keeps his posture tense and his joints loose as he asks, "Why the fuck do you care?"
"It's significant," Ross replies gravely.
The goon speaks with an aggressive authority when he tacks on, "If it's true."
Jason's arms are still crossed over his chest, but his weight is leaned back on his heels – not quite defensive, but certainly and overtly uneasy. He can feel a rising tension in the room, a strain that goes beyond the idea of a conflict of opinion between who's the boss and who's the goon. This tension eats at something bigger, a stressor that crosses into the territory of some sort of wider idealism.
Jason knows that he can't possibly win a fight against either of them without substantial back-up, they're both clearly on the roid-rage inducing take that allowed the Tolovis to trounce the Bats in that alley and let that stick of a dockworker throw Jason through a wall last week.
However they've managed to survive the drug this long is questionable – to the point that Jason considers the likelihood of there being more than one strange drug in circulation.
So, there's no way he can win against one of them on his own, and there's absolutely no possibility of winning against both, at the moment. And that's even entirely discounting the potential of having to fight against the other goons gathered in the area, the perimeter floaters who all have their eyes glued on Jason.
"What the fuck do you even want with the kid anyway?"
Tavian huffs, and indulges, "He's a witness, and also a bargaining chip. I would even be willing to trade him to you, honestly, but you don't have anything I want."
It's a ploy to see if Jason's more involved in Tavian's current game than he'd previously assumed. He is utterly convinced that a genuine outsider couldn't possibly know so much.
The goon that doesn't belong seems to agree – stalking even closer to Jason.
Hating the necessity of giving up ground and revealing his anxiety, Jason uncrosses his arms and lets his posture drop into something a bit more fight-ready. That goon is much more of a threat than Tavian, and even if Tavian's got that drug in his system to make him a god damn monster, the goon would be a threat even if no drugs were involved at all and Jason needs to keep an eye on him directly.
Feeling the creeping edge of desperation clawing it's way higher up his trachea, Jason shoves his thumbs into his pockets – feeling for whatever Bat-gadgets he's got stashed away that might be useful.
It's not much, but there are a couple flash bang grenades and an emergency repelling line attached to a folded up batarang… Using the repelling line for a quick get away would be murder on his hands, and would definitely peal the skin off his palm entirely if not simply cut straight through the muscle, bone, and sinew altogether, but it's not the worst option Jason can imagine for escaping at the moment. The line is meant to be flung across a gap, attached on both ends, and then slid down with the use of an additional object to grip hold of – like a pipe or even shoelaces in a sinch, none of which Jason really has time to grab.
But if Jason employs it here, the only goal would be to nab Tim and jump over the balcony railing – using the repel line to slow their fall to make a survivable landing. It's not at all the high tension wire's intended use, but it might serve the purpose adequately enough.
Jason needs to buy a bit more time, to wedge himself closer to Tim, in order for that wild idea to have even half a chance, so he pushes back against Tavian – plays up his suspicions.
"And how do you know I don't have something interesting on offer?"
His question is laced with a light antagonism, just enough aggression and arrogance to make Tavian believe he really has something worthwhile to trade.
"Because I don't even know who you are," Tavian counters immediately, voice going ice cold with severity. The barest edge of anxiety shows itself in the pinching at the corners of his eyes as he can't help but add declaratively, "Which means that you're clearly not a relevant player on our particular chess board."
Jason's teeth grind together as he resists ripping off a triumphant slide of sass. He even got the god damn metaphor right. Tavian Ross might be a fucking super soldier spy drug lord or whatnot for GHOST, but he's still a god damn entitled shithead and Jason knows how to work his type of cocky ass bastard. Even if Tavian can throw Jason's ass into next Tuesday without breaking a sweat, Jason might be able to pinch and pull at Tavian's own anxieties and spark a fight between Tavian and his own god damn goon squad.
Which would leave an opening for Jason to secure Tim and get the fuck out of here.
Before Jason can even finish celebrating the development of a new, almost reasonable, plan, the hair on the back of his neck gives a twinge. His hackles rise and he drops his knees into a straight-up fight-mode stance as a shadow appears at his back – alarmingly close to him considering how late he'd managed to react to it.
In front of him, Tim's face goes even more ghostly white – the last dregs of blood draining away from his face so quickly and completely, Jason's actually surprised he doesn't pass the fuck out from it.
Unfortunately, Jason can't dwell on Tim's current status as the shadow behind Jason's shoulder speaks – revealing himself as Rwen Tolovi, as he says, "He's with me."
Jason doesn't want to turn his back on Tavian, but he cannot let Rwen Tolovi stay in his blindspot – and he'd rather have his back to Tavian than to the goon that doesn't fit – so Jason half-swiveles to get Rwen into his eyeline, with Tavian's shadow just barely staying visible while he almost directly faces the goon.
He takes another twisting step and abandons keeping Tavian's figure in sight at all when Rwen goes on to ask, "Aren't you, Robin?"
Oh. Fuck.
This is not good.
Because Rwen Tolovi knows that he's Robin. And now, Rwen Tolovi is declaring a tie between Robin and the Blackbirds.
And Jason – for once in his life – has no idea how to snark about what's happening.
Desperately wracking his brain for even the most slipshod plan to attempt weaseling his way out of this – for anything with a bit more plan attached than his initial idea of just tackling Tim before diving over the rail and hoping for the best – Jason falters, hesitates.
It's not like him.
But he knows that rushing through this blindly will just get Tim killed.
Which is not an acceptable outcome.
And with the rest of the Bats outside… Jason is hoping that their combined brain power is enough to come up with something.
Because he's got nothing.
And he does not like the little hint of a smile Rwen Tolovi is wearing as he looks Jason over – evaluative, with a calculating gaze skimming him from head to toe.
Rwen's gaze lingers on Jason until Tavian asks what the hell Rwen thinks he's doing and Rwen's eyes drift over Jason's shoulder to pin the government approved drug lord to his seat.
"I'm offering you a champion, Tavian," Rwen replies lightly, legitimately bored by Tavian's question, but with an undercurrent of interest in the potential situation. "A local volunteer who knows what he's getting into – because you know how we Tolovis are about informed consent. You wanted to know how it reacts with fresh blood, well here's your chance to see it. And I can guarantee you that, if it's administered properly, his body won't reject it."
Jason can feel Tavian glaring into his back, but he keeps his eyes on Rwen.
"How do you know he's compatible," Tavian asks, his demand cautious and slow but caught fast inside an undeniable interest..
Rwen gives a dry shrug. "To the right eyes," he explains with a frustrating vagueness.
Even the fucking Batman has the god damn decency to finish his sentences when he deigns to give unhelpful explanations for things.
Rwen goes on to add, "I'm sure that Khan can verify it for you, and as an outside contractor he's got no reason to side with either of us."
Both Rwen and Tavian look to Jason's left and eye the goon that stands out from the rest of Tavian's little squad. The goon – Khan, apparently – looks Jason over again, but the gesture is far more like a play for time than any legitimate evaluation.
It was probably whatever observation he made of what the fuck Rwen's talking about that made the goon so interest in Jason to start with…
Khan looks to Tavian and nods.
Just once, firm and certain and deliberate – confirmation.
Trepidation swirls in Jason's gut. He does not like this conversation one bit – thinks he understands just enough of it to know that none of it can go well for him.
Rwen Tolovi is offering him up as a guinnea pig for some sort of experiment that Tavian Ross wants to run, probably involving the god damn drug sweeping through the city. Why they're seemingly working together now escapes Jason, but it's clearly the most likely conclusion – which makes Jason question how closely tied to GHOST Tavian is in current actuality.
The Bats had been assuming that the Tolovis were stealing shipments that Tavian was legally, or at least quasi-legally, transporting for the government agency he belongs to… but now Jason's thinking that maybe Rwen is calling in a final favor from an old brother in arms.
There's clearly an old connection of some sort between them, their body language screams that much without any room left for doubt.
What he doesn't know is what any of that means for Tim.
A low tone alerts him to a new com connection on the line he's got set up with B, and then Nightwing's voice is in his ear, cool and calm, "Talk to us, Little Wing. We don't have any eyes but yours in there, so we need you to tell us what's happening."
Jason can do this.
He's been trained for this.
It's only been about two years that he's been in the thick of it, but still, he's been trained and he'd always been a fast learner, so he's more than prepared – he can do this.
Jason turns back around to face Tavian.
"So, Tavian Ross," he drawls, "You've got all these goons up in here, and that guy who's apparently an outside contracter, and you've got Rwen Tolovi offering me up on a platter. Tell me again why you feel the need to keep such a tight hold on that stupid little kid?"
Tavian works a muscle in his jaw.
"I thought he was one of yours, honestly," Tavain said, addressing Rwen rather than Jason as he spoke. "Either that or a Tsingani youngling working on your behalf. Forgive me for being a bit twitchy on the topic of betrayal by a Tolovi. It's not exactly unprecedented."
Jason can feel Rwen rolling his eyes behind him as Dick's voice trickles urgently into his ear, "The Tsingani are a Roma Tribe, distant cousins to the Romani I come from – but they're Tinkerers, not Travelers, and they don't live anywhere near Gotham. A few small groups live in Florida and Louisiana but other than that, they're entirely west coast."
With a snort, Jason relays the relevant bit to Tavian, saying, "The Tsingani don't live anywhere near here. Gotham's too friggn' cold for 'em."
The collective attention of those in the loft lasers back onto Jason and he stands up straight and tall beneath the pressure – casts a smirk about the crowd.
"And I'm not exactly a Tolovi twat, but I'm willing enough to work with Rwen here to get you what you want, Rossie," Jason barrels on, "So, ain't it about time you let my brother go?"
"Brother?" Tavian scoffs. "No wonder Rwen is so willing to help you convince me. All that family drama and whatnot. Does Xansa even know you're here, Rwen?"
Rwen gives a bored shrug and says, "He is the boss."
"So people keep saying," Tavian scoffs in return. "And yet, you're the one who always seems to show up right before the important things happen."
Jason doesn't much care for the direction in which the conversation has turned, and to get the conversation back on track, he growls, "Yeah, criminals have office politics. Big shocker, there. Now, can I just have the kid back before you talk us both to death?"
The comment makes Tavian glower, and it makes Tim shrink further into himself.
But it does refocus the conversation on what Jason wants.
Tavian looks between Rwen, Khan, and Tim on the floor with a skeptical disdain.
"Fine, he's free to go," Tavian dismisses with a wave of his hand. "We'll leave him here, since I presume, Rwen, that you are our formal escort to the Raven this evening."
As Rwen shrugs again and drawls out a response of 'essentially', Jason bites down and grinds his teeth together.
"Uh-uh, I get to watch the kid walk out of here," Jason snarls before anything else can happen to change the landscape he's operating with. "Right now. Out the front door and onto a very public street. Who knows how many extra friends you've got hanging around in your little goon squad to pick him up again as soon as I'm not looking?"
With a resigned huff, Tavian says, "Fine. Khan, get him up. Send him on his way."
As the goon grabs Tim's shoulder and lifts him to his feet, Jason bears his teeth. "Let him walk alone. He's had more than enough of your grubby paws on him"
Khan shrugs and releases his hold on Tim.
Tim wobbles slightly, but remains upright – albeit looking like a spooked little deer. Jason sends a cocky wink his way as Tim shuffles passed, making his way slowly to the stairs.
Mustering a small smile, Tim tries to hide the fact that he looks like he's about to cry and Jason pretends not to notice the concerning crack in Tim's carefully arranged façade.
It's an excruciating wait for Jason as Tim disappears around the corner and makes his way down the stairs wrapped around the club's perimeter, but eventually, Tim's dark fluff of hair and eerie pale skin catch in the swirl of spotlights. Jason tracks his movement carefully as he strides towards the main entrance – Tim's not exactly graceful as he maneuvers around the club goers, but there is a certain elegance to his directness, to the intent behind every step and the ease with which he anticipates and dodges through the flow of people around him.
He makes it to the door and only hesitates for the barest second as he fails to fight down the urge to take one last look back at the loft where Jason's definitely hidden from view, but still present enough to make Tim need to just look back.
The glance only lasts a second, and then Tim's vanishing out the door.
It's another excrutiating wait for Jason until Nightwing pops up in his ear saying, "We got him, Little Wing. Baby bird is safe and sound. We're sending him back to the nest, and Agent A is gonna take good care of him. You did good, Little Wing, and now we're gonna get you out."
Jason lets the air in his lungs slide out through his teeth.
The Bats have Tim.
As long as he's safe…
Well, everything else is negotiable, as far as Jason's concerned.
He turns his full attention back to Tavian Ross and lets the Robin smirk slide across his face with a hellraising slice of devil-may-care bravado.
"Let's get this show on the road, then, eh?"